I wrote the first four lines of this poem some thirty years ago. I’ve been trying to write the rest of it ever since. After a living in many different places, getting to know countless people, and having all sorts of adventures and misadventures, I hope I’ve finally found out what I was trying to say all along.

 

Jade tree with big knuckles
and thick polished leaves
 
go tell the California ivy I can’t
pay back the sadness I borrowed
 
until the L.A. River flows
as ample and hubristic as the Nile
 
until monoxide fumes outdo
the lilac in crazed sweetness
 
until the San Andreas Fault yelps
out its climactic subterranean scat
 
shattering glass steeples of commerce 
into bright shards of kindness
 
no        not until your January
buds blink themselves into
 
a tsunami of pink blossoms.